Fox was the first to enter through the door with his weapon trained forward. The entrance before him opened into a darkened hall. Ryder situated herself behind him, with her rifle hovering above his shoulder as he moved. O'Brian situated himself behind Ryder as the third, and their miniature formation was copied by Ryse, Timbers and Grayson, respectively; this time, on the opposite wall of O'Brian’s team. They continued down the halls searching each room carefully as their helmet’s Night Visor illuminated the dark spaces by enhancing what little light was provided.
The rooms were relatively sparse, being mostly used for storage. They would search throughout them but found little to nothing of real intrigue, save for a mattress and linen with adornments the O'Brian figured was for running off during working hours. Ryder had seemed to share in his thoughts.“Mattress, scented candles, flower petals? Well, if it isn’t the ol’ shag-shack,” she said, with Fox giving a silent nod to her observation.
O'Brian scanned the small room, as the little hideout was furnished behind boxes to look inconspicuous to someone who might enter unexpectedly.
“See if you can find any identifying material of a female. Apparently she wore an expensive and elaborate headdress the last time she was seen,” he ordered, not just to Fox and Ryder, but to the second team who scoured the opposite side of the hall.
“Copy,” replied Ryder.
When they found nothing, they continued on through the main hall until they reached a set of double doors that were placed on the right of the hall. Fox held his left arm in a ninety-degree and a fist, informing them to halt. With his fingers, he motioned them in the way of guns, another sign that there were enemies nearby, and they sat just beyond the double set of doors.
O'Brian readied his team by having them flank the entrance evenly with Timbers and Fox on point. He then switched from his suppressed rifle to the weapon gifted to him by Major Rykoo, racking the pump actuated weapon for a round into the chamber.
His motion sensors pinged upon his Hud, and several red dots appeared. They were large, indicating either a collective mass, large opponents, or both. Either way, they were going to make them see the light.
“Fox, Timbers; ready flash grenades. Ryder, Grayson; get ready to frag ‘em,” he ordered. They gave a silent nod in affirmation and awaited his execution.
When they readied their equipment, he ordered their explosive entrance, “BREACH, BREACH, BREACH!!!” he roared, this time to make the enemy know he was here.
The doors opened with a whir and a whoosh, revealing a dank and gruesome scene. The floors and walls were stained in a dark liquid dried over several days, as indicated by the splash pattern. That, and the fact that the closest beings in front of them were busy devouring a body of a Sellian.
The grenades were lobbed, initially ignored by the gorging beasts. One such grenade made contact with an individual as they picked it up with curiosity. The grenade was round in construction, but was packed with high-explosive in its canister, opting for explosive power and not shrapnel. However, O’Brian didn’t know how such a grenade would do against a naturally armored creature, and he was curious.
With the grenade in its hand, it observed it, urging others around it to view it when the one who seemed in charge, pointed to the entrance. The one warning his brethren was the only one who donned cloth and decorative metals, but as they turned, the grenades went off, catching them off guard.
A scream roared from the group, as their bodies moved in reflex to the sudden stimulus, as violent as it was. A hand, up to the elbow, was missing, and parts of their chest were indented from the impact. They began to thrash wildly, swatting their tails into each other as another set of grenades went off, this time being one of a flashy nature. High-pitched booms went off in addition to a quick flash of light, blinding and disorienting the beasts. That was their cue, and the six-man team entered the room, flooding it with bullets.
They had formed a line from the entrance of the door as they cleared their immediate corners, and fired until whatever occupied the room ceased to move. The rounds from Timbers’ machine gun tore through them efficiently, and violently, along with the other weapons used by his team. Their scales were tough, but enough rounds made it moot.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” ordered O’Brian.
There was no doubt in his mind that the smell of gunpowder filled the room and overtook the horrific odor before their entrance. Fox proceeded forward into the room, making a wide berth around the hole riddled bodies; analyzing each one for life. Ryse and Timbers remained by the exit; silently cautious of the darkened halls as the rest of the team continued in the room.
With each step, O’Brian felt a viscous liquid beneath his feet; similar in feeling to the Sellian ambush team not too long ago. He feared for them at that implication and the apparent evidence strewn before him in the corners of the room. Stained bones of Sellians were before him and piled together with blatant disregard. It sickened him, and similar feelings were shared with Ryder and Grayson.
“This ain’t right,” spoke Ryder as she struggled to keep the contents of her stomach in place.
“Why would the Council keep man-eating lizards in their basement? Eating their citizens, no less,” added Grayson. His bearing was much stricter than Ryder’s, but it was apparent that he was also unnerved by the carnage before him.
“I don’t know, but search for anything that can hold intel,” said O’Brian.
The others began searching the room when the sounds of a low growl filtered through his comms-set, and he turned to the center of the room. The color was off, but he noticed a body of a fallen lizard began to move; first with its tail, then with the whole of its body. It tried to steady itself as blood began to vent from its body.
It was tall, much taller than himself and just a bit more than Grayson. But the others were in the far corners of the room, leaving O’Brian alone within the beast’s range for an attack. At first, it didn’t move. Instead, it only stood there until it began to speak, at least what he thought was its version of speech. He readied his weapon, already chambered with a fresh round to ruin its day. Before he pulled the trigger, Athena awoke from her silence, causing him to pause.
“Sir, If I may. I believe I can translate it,” she spoke.
“Oh? Do tell,” he replied; taking mind to not take his aim away from the beast. After several seconds, Athena returned.
“I have assessed earlier communications from friendly Sellian forces prior, and they have a function to translate the present alien tongue. From my transcriptions, they seem to call it ‘Runian’. Translating now.”
As the beast spoke, its vocals changed from incoherent growls and yips to Terran Common, “… You, must be warrior.”
“So, you aren’t mindless,” replied O’Brian, catching the beast off guard.
“You speak my tongue. Wretched, it is, coming from rocks and not from throat. Tell me, who you?” it asked.
“O’Brian,” he replied curtly. “Of Raptor Company.”
“Hmm, Raptor Company… Is it clan?” replied the Runian.
“It is. But tell me, who are you?” asked O’Brian.
Its head moved in a way that said it was pondering before returning to the Terran before it, “Bok’ta. Chieftain of this band, and warriors to Neela.”
It was a name he had not heard of before, and if it was, he had simply forgotten. But it seemed significant for it to now be seared into his memory.
“What were you doing here? And what of the corpses?” asked O’Brian.
It snarled, but answered, “Eaten. Clan would have starved were it not for Sir Pola! Blood payment for Council protection,” it replied.
“And what? They let you eat their own citizens as payment for their protection?” Inquired O’Brian.
The Runian nodded, “Yes. We lay too! Then eat,” It sniffed the air mid-sentence before shifting its gaze toward Ryder. It had begun salivating and its eyes slits narrowed; it was ready to pounce. By now, the rest of the team had caught on to O’Brian since the start of his conversation, taking their aim.
“You move, you die,” ordered O’Brian as he tried to turn its attention to him. It began to sway its tail, and he noticed a rising facility from its lower torso; ready to breed.
He didn’t need to dive further into it, as he was aware of its intentions. From what he gathered, it lived to fight, eat and breed whenever it could. It didn’t matter what conditions it did so in, just that it did.
From deep within him, anger arose. Without giving it a chance to pounce, he fired into its waist, shattering it into shredded flesh. It collapsed and screamed at the pain. No words were offered or translated, just a pained scream. In the end, it was a beast that could barely talk.
It had tried to claw at him, but he deftly swatted it away with a forceful kick and placed the barrel of his gun to the head of the Runian and fired. He offered no words of condemnation or fury, just simply, the pull of a trigger.
“Sir?” spoke Ryder; to which he turned and replied.
“Don’t worry about it. From now on, you see a lizard, you put it down like vermin. Got it?” his tone was sharp, and unfiltered.
They nodded in response as he ordered their exit, but not before catching a glimpse of an item near a wall. It was metal in nature and was of a floral pattern with a single gem in the center. Its craftsmanship was expert from his experience, and recalled something similar shown to him by Vorta. It was of a picture with the two in frame and her sister wore an item like it, confirming his suspicion.
“Poor thing…” he said solemnly as he held the bloodied head dress. He noticed the presence of Ryder behind him, curious of his find, “Is that the Sellian’s-,”
“Sister,” he interjected. “Yeah. Her name was Tolani. Apparently, she went missing a while back, around the time we entered the Village on the outskirts.”
“That’s…” she didn’t know what to say. To find that a loved one was defiled before death and desecrated after. It was a harrowing thought, causing her to shudder.
“C’mon,” he said, bringing the rest of the team on track, “Let's nail these bastards.”
He placed the head ornament into a free pouch upon his thigh as he ordered them to advance down the corridor, now much more cautious due to their earlier encounter.
“Eyes up. We don’t know how many are left, so be careful. Move it,” he ordered.
They maintained their same formation as when they entered, moving in silence through the rooms. They had made an excess of noise, so he expected the enemy to also be on guard. It was natural when they decided to engage with a trusty 8-gauge and an unsuppressed light machine gun. But he felt comfort in knowing that they had yet to feel the might of the former.
Methodically, they entered and cleared each room as they came across it. First it was by their mini-map, seeing if their motion sensors detected any movement; and if they did, then they simply offered a high-explosive grenade into the room until the little red dots on their map disappeared. It was an effective method, especially in an enclosed space; when they would re-open the doors, they would be met with smoke and the occasional mess. Any that moved or groaned were then finished off by Fox or Ryder.
“X-Rays down sir,” spoke Ryder as they cleared the last room before being met with a set of double doors.
“Good work,” replied O’Brian as he approached the door; with Fox and Ryder beside him ready to enter. He already noted several markers on his mini-map that indicated enemy presence spread around the room with a small cluster centered near the edge of his sensors. He assumed them to be his targets.
“Check your HUDs, and pick your targets. I don’t want a stray bullet to knock the VIPs. Standby for infil.”
He then turned his attention to his holographic companion as she stood no taller than six inches from her device. The door before him was locked, and he turned to her for assistance.
“Athena,” he said. “Just unlock it, Don’t open it.”
“I understand,” replied the A.I. “I suspect you have a grand entrance in store for them?” to which he nodded.
“Going to give them the ole breacher classic,” he said, prepping a cylindrical tube on the side of the door that offered cover. The rest of the team used this space to minimize being caught by gunfire as soon as the doors open.
“When these doors open, let ‘em shoot. On my mark, we throw. Three, two, one…”
With a whir of the door’s mechanical servo’s, they opened and a barrage of sharp cracks filtered through from the room; with sparks generated from contact with the metallic walls. They had largely missed their mark, and their pause gave O’Brian ample time for a counter. He spoke into his proximity voice input and began with a toss of his primed grenade.
“Mark! Flash out!”
Other’s followed in his example, over saturating the room with numerous flash and concussion grenades, each activating in such a way that it effectively created a chain reaction of deafening booms. After the last explosion was sounded, O’Brian and his team entered through the doors in a tactical fashion, keeping mind of their weapon pointed at their disoriented opposition. Fox, Ryder and O’Brian took to the left of the room, with Ryse and Gray taking to the right; leaving Timbers to watch their rear.
Before them, the Sellian soldiers were wild in their actions, waving around their weapons in blatant disregard at their visual and audio discomfort. They were useless now, but O’Brian quickly weighed their fate in his hands. To him, it was simple; they still had their weapons in their hands, so they were still fair game.
Instead of issuing verbal commands to fire, he simply did so by firing select rounds into the nearest target. Those around him followed suit, landing most of their shots center mass before following up with either a pelvic or headshot. It was a textbook breach, and if any of the enemy soldiers recovered, it was likely they would have either permanent eye or hearing damage; perhaps both. The room had quieted after the last body fell, and his eyes were now set to a table at the end of the room where he noticed a collection of robes huddled together and called to them; his voice reverberating throughout the medium-sized room.
“Come out! We have you surrounded, and your guards are dead! Hands above your heads where I can see them!” he ordered as he turned on his weapon mounted light, illuminating their figures that he could, indeed, see them.
They were slow to act, but did as he ordered. However, they failed to comply with his order to see their hands, as several of the councilmen had hidden theirs behind their clothing. It was suspicious to say the least, and he ordered them once more.
“I said let me see your hands! I know you can understand me! Show me your hands!”
Three of the five did as they were told, tossing what looked to be a service pistol to the side.
“Okay! Don’t shoot! Quickly, Galem, with us!” said a Sellian donning blue robes alongside a silent red-robed Sellian. The two received scorns from the other two who sported white and purple colored robes.
“You cowards!” scorned one in purple as he brandished his weapon to the three.
O’Brian moved to intercept before having the weapon turned to him, and he paused, his weapon now trained on the two who failed to comply.
“What, Terran. Never had a gun waved in your face before?” mocked the Sellian; his nose raised as if trying to look down on him. They stood on a raised platform, so it was natural for him to feel the need to be condescending.
“So you must be Councilman Polas,” he replied in a cold tone, free from excess emotion. His words caught the Sellian off guard, as he likely didn’t expect him to know his name. With a metallic clunk of a weapon hitting the floor, the hands of the white-robed Sellian were raised, leaving only Polas.
“You-!” began Polas in a fury, “You said we should fight to the last! Or did you plan this too?! Kallim!”
The Sellian in question only nodded in response, denying the claim, “Look before you, Polas. They know your name, our names. Whatever else I had left to resist had long since passed; our men were killed instantly before our eyes, and they had nothing to defend against it!”
Polas looked to the floor below him, which were only a couple of steps away, and saw the silhouettes of his fallen soldiers as they lay dying. The realization began to set in, but he held his ground, as faltering as it was.
“Reka, Breka! Even you Galem. You are all at fault as much as I am. Look, Terrans! This is the man you want!” Polas waved his weapon to the still Kallim, his expression and bearing still reflective as that of a leader.
“He orchestrated the siege of your worlds! I played along because he’s my superior! You want him, not me!” His pacing grew erratic and dangerous, with his expression filled with guilt. He could see it, as did the others in the room.
“You can plead your case at the Senate Tribunal, where you will all be tried for your crimes against humanity,” said O’Brian. “But first,” he focused on Polas who still waved the gun about, still having not fired a shot.
“What do you all know about the room of the Runians, Polas.”
His posture began to crumble at the mention, and glances from the other council members looked upon him with confusion.
“What is he talking about, Polas?” spoke the blue-robed Breka.
Galem, a Sellian donned in green, chimed in next to the inquiry, “What do you mean, Terran? Were they not put in place to keep the enemy at bay, Polas?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The Sellian in question failed to answer, as visible trails of sweat began to form on his head, as reflected in the light from O’Brian’s weapon. A sigh was heard, and when they looked to the originator, it was Kallim shaking his head.
“What did you find, Terran,” he asked humbly. Solemnity was the only expression he had mustered to ask his question and faced the Sellian in question. “Polas had told us to not go beyond their space; that he had everything under control. I had placed my trust in him because I know what they are, and I fear the worst has come.”
“Councilman Polas,” he said, gaining the attention of the dumbstruck alien, “What do you know of a Sellian by the name of Tolani?”
It was a question that seemed irrelevant to the larger question at hand, but O’Brian felt it necessary to find an answer. The one in question stammered to speak, before Reka, a councilman in red, spoke on his colleagues' behalf.
“A receptionist clerk. She worked at the front desk…” he said. Nods of affirmation were shared between Breka and Galem.
“We… saw her plenty with Polas before we entered the sanctum, but we thought he had sent her home, or to a bunker. Did you do that, Polas?”
The call from Breka brought him back to reality, and O’Brian knew that he could have taken him out, and subdued him, but he wanted answers now. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to see any of them after they were brought in. Now was the only time he could question them himself.
“I…” began Polas, “I sent her away. We had a room, within the sanctum halls that we shared. She should have left…” His words were listless and shallow in execution. Like he was now a broken shell that had become a husk in the middle of their interrogation.
O’Brian then reached into his pouch, and with the clang of metal, he revealed it, as the sound was familiar to them; for it filled the halls daily when she was attached to Polas.
“This was all that was left, in a room of lizards; reduced to blood and bone. Let me show you,” he said before firing a single shot at the weapon Polas wielded. He had aimed for the gun itself, but adjusted for a personal touch; the hand itself.
It was gone in its entirety, as he didn’t switch to a more precise weapon, and Polas screamed in pain. Meanwhile, the other Raiders had circled to the group and began detaining them.
“Hey! Watch it! We’ll go, we’ll go!” sounded Breka as Fox fastened a set of zip ties over their wrists. They were the thicker kind, and they were bound efficiently enough that they struggled to move their hands with how tight they were, causing acute pain with some.
“Okay, okay! Can’t you loosen it just a bit?” cried Galem, but his request fell on deaf ears as Fox quickly bound them?
With the council bound, and Polas mildly treated, O’Brian began their escort, “Fox, Ryder, up front. Lead the way, and make for the landing pad,” he ordered.
They stepped off in silence, as the two led the detail. O’Brian led in front of the councilmen, with Gray in the rear and Ryse and Timbers on the sides; forming a wedge.
They continued through the now emptied halls as they passed through open doors; with the light from their weapons briefly illuminating the entrance that revealed familiar corpses to the councilmen before pausing. When he stopped, the councilmen gagged, noting a foul odor that assaulted them.
“Gegh! What is that?!” said Breka, followed by the once silent Reka, “That is…”
There was an underlying odor to it that, even in its soiled nature, was something all too familiar to him. A smell that he grew accustomed to on the field of battle when a friendly trooper took a lethal hit that they had little chance to recover from.
“Blood, soiled. Terran, can you show me?” asked Reka. O’Brian did as he requested and shined his light into the room, revealing the previous horrors his team had encountered.
Bones piled wastefully to the sides, with the floor and walls thickly stained in green. Littered about the room were the small detachment of Runians previously tasked to defend them, but from the looks of it so far, they did none of that. They neither roamed nor fought, and instead, were made short work of.
“Polas… what did you do…” he asked his colleague, to which he muttered. “They… required a blood payment… I didn't know what to do.”
“Fine soldiers, and innocent civilians. Murdered!” Reka had turned, and with his hands still bound, delivered a strike to the crestfallen Polas. “That should be you in there! And you!” he turned to the eldest among them.
“You should share their fate! Why…” Reka’s shoulder’s shrank, as did his tone, “why did you make that deal with her?”
Kallim, instead, remained silent; and even though Reka wanted to strike him as well, he was stopped by the flanking Raiders. When he spoke, it was devoid of empathy; cold, and calculating.
“I did what I did for the betterment of our people. New lands to call home and to expand our empire, should the Union come at us again. How was I to know that Neela would appear? I could not simply deny her, when in her presence, were her personal guards. They would have torn us to shreds if we angered her. You live today because of my choices that day,” he replied.
“A shame they were felled so easily, Terran. But lucky for you, they were a small clan. Weak, and inexperienced,” he added before being forcibly ushered by Grayson to move forward.
When they began up the steps from the main chambers, O’Brian began receiving calls as they continued up the steps until they made it to the central chambers.
“To think we were jammed that far down…” voiced Ryder, to which O’Brian agreed.
It hadn’t come to him that they were jammed, or just deep enough to not receive calls, as he and his team were focused on the council. With their mission a success, he had finally realized how much he had missed. This time, he was met with Major Rykoo who was flanked by a small detail of Raiders as they looked around cautiously, even though he suspected that they had already cleared the room.
“Fable! Congratulations on the capture! Setting the example for the other battalions, I’m sure! I pray there was no issue down below?” he inquired, his demeanor jolly in delivery.
“Some. But we dealt with it. How did it go up here? Seems like we had no comms after we went in. What about the incoming enemy force?” he replied.
“We had some difficulty, But your sniper proved invaluable in our defense,” said Rykoo.
“Dare?” replied O’Brian.
“That’s the one! Fine shot, he is. Covered us from sniper fire by the enemy. Luckily, we held off long enough for Marine reinforcements to arrive, and they made short work of the enemy. Fine job they did. So, are these the assets?” added Rykoo.
“They are sir,” replied O’Brian. “These are the guys who started this whole war. Fine ending, if you ask me.”
“We’ll see about that,” replied Rykoo as he approached the captives, specifically to Kallim, getting within arms distance. “How’s it feel to lose your home world to the Raiders?”
He could only scowl at the man before him, using silence as his best defense. When he saw that he wouldn’t budge, the Major dropped his act, turning to O’Brian.
“Transport’s already covered, and it’ll take you to the Queen.”
“I appreciate it, sir. Where’s the rest of my platoon?” he asked.
“Already on the assault carrier. Don’t worry, Cobra and Raven have it from here. Oh, but Dare insisted he come with you, so he’s waiting by the ship.”
“Thanks, see you at the debrief, then. Oh, and mind where you step down there,” O’Brian said, before escorting the councilmen to their in-house landing pad.
Like the one similar to what took Strega and O’Clair in, it was another Hawk drop-ship with its side door ramps open to embark. He noticed a small group of Raiders whose armor was near pristine, save for some scuffs and dirt, but lacked markings of any kind; they were fresh from the depot. They were talking beside the right ramp, engaging in conversation of their supposed heroism.
“… you should have seen it! Fired damn near a whole mag at a patrol, got like ten of ‘em before I had to reload!”
“Fields, that’s some bullshit, and you know it. Ain’t that right, Jay? Jay?”
The one referred to Jay looked in his direction, like he had seen a ghost, but O’Brian chalked it up to shock; he approached the ramp, nonetheless, finally gaining the attention of the fledgling Raiders.
“Rah, Sir,” said one Raider whose name was lasered on his chest, spelling ‘SPEARS’. He was about to offer a salute, as did the others, but was quickly stopped from doing so.
“We don’t salute in the field, Raider. Attention is fine,” he said, eyeing each one as they formed up before him. They were young, and had survived their first combat encounter with relatively high spirits. It was refreshing. “New to the fleet, huh. How was your first real drop?”
“Exciting, Sir. Nothing quite like it!” exclaimed one whose name was ‘FIELDS’. Beside him, their names were in full view, and he scanned from left to right, noting ‘SPEARS’, ‘CAMERON’, and ‘KURT’. They seemed like friends, so it was likely they graduated together; that was his initial thought.
“How is the Major treating you guys? I know he can be hard at times, but he’s fair,” he said.
Cameron was the next to answer, “He treats us well, Sir. Nice, too.”
“Yes Sir! The Major knows how to fight! Never saw a man tear the arm off a Sellian and then beat ‘em with it,” replied Fields, clearly excited.
O’Brian nodded at the response, seeing how their feelings were reflective of how he felt of the man who taught him everything he knew. The Major was known as a great fighter, but he hadn’t seen it first hand, but a man of his caliber, it seemed plausible. However, he cut the conversation short, as he had to deliver his captives.
“You guys can get going. My team has it from here. And remember, take time to decompress,” he said as he boarded the Hawk.
They came to attention and stepped from the danger zones of the aircraft, clearing from its exhaust zone as it began to start up, and the doors closed, encasing his small team. The councilmen were seated in the center of the compartment, with some of the Raiders taking this time for leisure, with Fox and O’Brian on guard duty.
Their ride was turbulent at first, but quickly subsided after they broke through the first layer of the atmosphere. From there, he only had to wait until they reached their destination; the TRSC Phantom Queen…
… Their transit was short as their ship began landing procedures. It jolted to the sides as the automated landing system engaged, tossing their occupants around if they weren’t seated. He knew from experience aboard drop-ships and shuttles that a smooth landing was possible when free from confined spaces, but it was required for hangar landings to assist with pinpoint accuracy. It helped to maintain space in the hangar and it was a quick process.
When he felt the landing gears touch the deck, the ship lowered once more with a thud as the magnetic locks activated, effectively sealing it to the deck. The doors of the central compartment then opened, revealing a bright white light that filled the hangar, nearly blinding the Sellian War Council; evidenced by their grimaced faces as their eyes slowly began to adjust.
With himself in the lead, he disembarked from the ship and was met by a large crowd that gathered on the edge of the landing pad’s boundary, with ship security placed along the perimeter. Much of the crowd were donned in colored mechanic suits that indicated their roles, and with their entry, had gathered them. They looked upon them with wide eyes, with others discreetly trying to get photos; with several being hounded by security on operational security.
From the crowd, they parted, and he was shown a familiar set of faces. The first that stood out to him was Wolf, with a pair of Sellians behind him and a small detachment of his own men, most notably from Foxtrot Platoon.
“Sir,” O’Brian said as he came to attention. “Mission accomplished. We have men on the ground securing the site, but I would like them to return to our carrier once they get replaced.”
“Granted. Once the marines touch down, which they should have, your battalion will be free to return to your ship. Now,” said wolf, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
He spoke to the first in line, Reka, followed by Breka and Galem.
“I am Reka. Military advisor to the Head Chief,” he replied, offering a slight bow. “These two are Breka and Galem, our empire’s lead logistical officer and diplomat, respectively. But, while I may, can you usher councilman Polas to a medical site?”
Wolf turned to a pale Sellian, with its right hand covered in stained bandages. He eyed O’Brian before calling for medical, to which the individual in question was taken and led by his own detail of the ship's security.
When the individual was out of earshot, Wolf spoke, “What happened? Did he piss you off enough to blow his hand off?”
O’Brian relaxed his posture as he replied, “Sort of. If you saw and heard what I did, well, you probably would have put an entire eight gauge into his torso. He’s lucky it was only his hand. That, and he was waving a gun around. I couldn’t have him misfire and put one in the head of a VIP, now could I?”
Wolf smirked to his reply, and then focused on the last Sellian in the group. He looked to be at least twice the age, if not greater, than the surrounding councilmen. Before he could speak, the female Sellian that previously took cover behind Wolf showed herself. The previous three were surprised at her sudden appearance, but she promptly ignored them, instead focusing on the quiet Kallim.
“Father,” she said in soft disdain, “quite the nerve you’re still alive.”
Kallim sighed, his eyes resting to meet her gaze, “Yorla… for what reason are you aboard a Terran vessel, along with that failure of a Commander,” he said. He directed a sharp stare at the other Sellian who had yet to present himself and chose to remain quiet.
“We have seen what you ordered Torlak to do. Enslavement… We fought the Union to free ourselves from them only for us to commit the same atrocity! We still have many of our own people still enslaved by them, and you… you went and did this?” Tears began forming in her eyes as she spoke.
Kallim remained silent, as he didn’t have a rebuttal, or excuse. He was at fault, and it had inevitably caused war which quickly turned to their disadvantage. To save him from any further dishonor, he chose silence.
When she found that he wasn’t going to respond, she turned to step away, finding her spot beside a man separate from the aged commander who greeted them first. He was younger, but still wore what he suspected to be a naval uniform. Then he noticed it; an ornate headdress mixed with gold and silver, fashioned with expertly crafted flowers that sat upon a white cloth.
“Since when…” he uttered, curious of her adornment. “When did you receive such a gift?”
“A year ago,” she responded. “We are betrothed, and with this war over, we will marry.”
Kallim turned his gaze to the man who stood beside her, eyeing him in detail, “What is your name?”
“Vale. But I’m afraid we won’t be acquainted long,” he gave a nod to the eyeful Wolf, to which he ordered their confinement.
“We’ll have security escort them,” said Wolf, and a set of guards surrounded the remaining four Sellians as they led them to the brig. The crowd had then slowly begun to disperse, eventually leaving the small group after Wolf dismissed the rest of security.
“O’Brian, we need to talk, Privately,” he said, turning to his entourage of the Sellian pair and lone Commander, not minding his team as they had already set themselves to relax. O’Brian followed him to the ship his team disembarked from, and closed the doors. The ship’s engines were still off, so there was no hum to add to the ambiance.
“What now, Sir? I’d like to think my team is going to enjoy some much-needed leave,” replied O’Brian.
“You will, but we’ve received some troubling news. Sergeant Trisco, from Viper’s Kilo platoon, was ambushed. They were operating a skeleton detail for transport when they stopped in a system to rendezvous with Senate forces for a sendoff. He only had half a squad with him, but they were wiped out, save for him and the crew. The worst part, Torlak escaped. I’m sorry.”
It was an unwelcome surprise to O’Brian, and he was furious at the loss of his Raiders, but he had new questions from the report.
“How? Sensors would have picked up an enemy ship transiting through their newly controlled space, right?” he rebuked, to which Wolf shook his head.
“We don’t have a lot of the details, but the captain of the ship reported that they had to do emergency repairs. That’s when they were attacked. However, in the midst of that, the sergeant was kind enough to provide video of the enemy. Take a look.”
He retrieved a rectangular device and handed it to O’Brian when it started playing. It was a video played from the point-of-view of Sergeant Trisco himself when he was interrogating a Sellian that he didn’t recognize. It was only the two of them present, so he turned up the audio.
“C’mon! You rancid piece of shit! Tell me what I need to know before I glass your sorry fucking world!” He held the scruff of his clothing, effortlessly lifting the Sellian.
“You don’t have that authority. You’re just as low on the caste as that fledgling behind you,” retorted the Sellian.
“Oh yeah? You wanna know who can? He’s the biggest and baddest Raider this side of the galaxy! And I’m willing to bet he’d nuke whatever hole your family came crawling out of! Best get used to glass because when I find your family, I’ll give ‘em your regards.”
The Sellian tried to fight back, but Trisco proved too strong for him. Tears of anger fell from his contorted face as he denied the Raider’s claims.
“You-! You filthy Terrans! I hope the Union puts you down like the elders prior, Vec’ta!! You will be nothing more than slaves, like the others!”
Trisco was about to deliver a violent and powerful punch to the Sellian, with O’Brian unsure if he was going to hold back, but he stopped after a shake of the helmet feed gave him pause. He tossed the Sellian back into his confinement and sealed the door before issuing orders to the Raider behind him.
The following series of events occurred how he expected, at least initially. It was quickly turned against them when the door to the room opened and bolts of light dashed through the corridor. Trisco, along with the subordinate, then looked to where the shots were coming from, which was from the door that led into the small hangar. There were already two dead Raiders laid on the floor, motionless, as the volume of fire from the enemy increased.
Trisco had assessed the corridor for any friendly forces, with only a couple further down and in the prone position as they fired through the doorway and into the hangar. They were, however, unarmored; donning only their under suit and fatigues with fresh bed hair. They had just woken up, but their first instinct was to fight, regardless whether they had their armor on or not; and yet, they fought.
However, it took a turn when the shooting stopped and a large mass lunged through the door and swung at the sergeant with its large tail. It knocked him against the bulkhead, causing him to cry out in pain before going unconscious. From there, the only imagery was of the floor and numerous bodies, both human and alien. There was a stark difference with those in the video, however; They weren’t Sellian.
The video then cuts to after he woke up, with an angered Sellian kicking at his body and cursing him. There was no presence of the alien threat, so it continued on with Trisco rising from the retreating enemy and recapturing the Sellian prior. He ended up catching the enemy with their backs turned and lifting the large reptile’s body and the new corpses into the artificial tunnel cut into the hangar’s door. The feed finally cut out after the Raider placed the Sellian back into custody and locked the doors to the hangar, leaving in the corridor fallen comrades whose blood pooled beneath them. It was a lot to unpack, but O’Brian understood the implications.
“What are we dealing with now, besides the Runian,” he said, his tone near unfazed.
“Well, beyond the Runian, we don’t know. This happened six to eight hours ago, but the bodies were spaced when the boarding party left. They recovered them quickly, so we only have one other body. They’re working the autopsy now, but we won’t get results until they make it back to Sol,” replied Wolf.
“Very well,” resigned O’Brian. “I take it, the 4th Fleet is going to return home?”
“They will. They weren’t our original replacement, so we’ll head home once another Carrier Group arrives. The rest of the 7th will remain here until then.”
Wolf opened the door to the ship’s compartment, removing their privacy, and continued, “In the meantime, set up a patrol roster. We’re still going to need some guys planet-side for clean-up duty.”
But as the door met the floor, a person whom O’Brian was unfamiliar with, stood by with her own entourage of naval officers. Compared to Wolf, who donned a standard field uniform, she wore similar colored fittings, but over her thighs was a sturdy fabric skirt, or belt-spat. Some even called it a Command Skirt, or Kama. It was a new look, and he wondered if the uniform had changed sometime in the past three years.
“Ah, Dad!” she spoke, meeting the Vice Admiral in a bear hug once he stepped off the ship’s ramp.
“Zuna, my dear! Brilliant display. Never have I seen a ship get torn from a slip-space rupture like that. I think you were lucky to be granted such a magnificent ship,” added Wolf; his tone now reflective of a doting father.
The woman before him was young and had wavy platinum-brown hair tied into a braided ponytail; its length reaching just below her nape. To him, it looked like a fluffed fox tail with the amount of volume it had, bounding with each head movement and step. O’Brian couldn’t help but stare.
“May I help you, Raider?” she said in a soft tone.
She seemed to be no older than his sergeants, specifically Strega, as they shared similar complexions, just without the scars.
“Ma’am,” he said, offering a slight nod. His helmet was still on, but as he looked upon her, he noticed that she bore three bars and a star on her shoulder; she was a commander, and at a relatively younger age than he had ever seen.
“Didn’t think I’d meet a commander as young as you,” he reached his hand out, to which she replied in kind.
“I thank my father for his teachings,” said Zuna. “Well, I must be off. 4th fleet has almost wrapped up its support, so we’ll make our way to Sol, and we can begin preparation for the tribunal. Maybe I’ll see you there, O’Brian,” she turned, leaving the two beside the aircraft. After she was out of earshot, he removed his helmet.
“Is she… seeing anyone?” he asked of his superior beside him. He continued to stare at her as she left, but he received a slight nudge from the elbow of his officer.
“No… she only wants the best, and none have come close to her expectations. But you, well, you practically assaulted an enemy’s capital city by yourself and captured their leaders. I’d say you have a pretty decent chance. That, and she even suggested you meet again. I hope you’re free that day,” commented Wolf in an endearing manner.
It was a tone O’Brian was unfamiliar with, but found it to be a welcome one. Then, once he had concluded their meeting, had the rest of his team depart for their home, the Arm of Sol.